#key writes stuff

The droning dismissal bell bleated through the halls, and Shouta was happy to abide by it with a careless hand-wave and an ambivalent “alright, get out” at his congregation of students. Iida was right at the door, then, pushing it open and policing his classmates as they filed out. Shouta continued to gather his things at his own pace, fishing his cigarettes out of his sleeping bag, kept in there to prevent any potential crushing that could occur throughout the day, and stuffing them into his pocket. From the hallway, he heard Kaminari’s voice and immediately recognized the start of a ruckus. He sighed.

“Well, hello there! What’s a beauty like you doing all the way over here?”

“Move it, shit-for-brains!” Bakugou shoved the other blond out of the way and kept going.

“Bakugou-kun, no pushing!” Iida scolded loudly.

A distant “shut it!” was shouted back.

There was a soft reply in the middle of all that somewhere that had Shouta’s ears perking despite not being able to hear what was said.

He could hear Kaminari just fine, though.

“I’m sure your alpha won’t mind if you and I spend some time together, right? Maybe I could be your alpha instead? What do you say?”

Shit.

Shouta took a stabilizing breath before dutifully marching out there to handle it.

Sero and Kirishima were loitering off to the side, sharing the space but not together with Asui and Uraraka, who seemed curious by what should’ve been a trainwreck rejection. On the other side was Kaminari, leaning boldly on the wall beside a taller yet fairer figure.

Drowsy almond eyes blinked in bewilderment at the young alpha, the violet pools of them alight and pretty like jewels under the bright, unforgiving lights, and purple hair bound neatly into a high bun. A large clip further contained what Shouta knew was a wild mane, holding the shorter pieces at the front down towards the bun, its cute ronghua flowers like white and purple petunias complimenting the glossy bed of hair. The omega wasn’t part of their class, wasn’t even in the same building as them, instead wearing the proper green and white dual-colored kimono and large, padded happi of the keisei course a short walk across campus—padded to embolden their silhouette and conceal any remaining curvature as keiseis were not sex objects to be ogled. UA hosted runover keiseis from a few different academies, but mostly from Tokyo’s Mizuage Academy. UA was considered the only other institution that could uphold their standards and values for their precious trainees.

Some schools sent UA their worst-performers, but not Mizuage. Mizuage viewed the lower-ranking students as desperately needing their firmer hand for guidance, so when the new trainees came in and their dorms overflowed, they sent their highest achievers to UA with full faith they would continue to be the shining pearls of the country everyone expected them to be. As such, the happis represented each school differently, always green for UA but split-dyed with the colors for the keiseis’ parent school. Each happi was also hand-embroidered with the correct school emblems and mandated designs correlating with each institution, done by the keiseis themselves as a means of further showing off their talents and diligence. Mizuage’s took the green and added their indigo blue as an ombre at the bottom, the perfect gold embroidery being simple but elegant as it crept up from the hem and spread out over the puffy shoulders like war honors. The haori himo was also blue with a silver buckle, tied into a carnation and pushed into position at the small of the back.

Hitoshi had already freed his arms from the fabric, leaving it lay like an open flower around his waist. He lit up when he saw Shouta.

As if Kaminari were suddenly invisible, the omega swerved around him and stood happily before the disgruntled teacher. He held up his mismatched sleeves, and within them the vibrant UA red lining of the kimono could be clearly seen, and presented a plastic bag with four thick slices of what looked to be sourdough bread.

“We made bread today,” Hitoshi shook the bag excitedly before holding out to Shouta’s chest with both dainty hands.It was mostly a reflex that had the older alpha reaching up to catch it. Hitoshi let it go before he could think to push the gift away in front of his students—in front of the cameras.

“Sensei…!” Kaminari sounded borderline affronted. Unfortunately, not for the right reasons. “Come on! You had your chances with high school omegas when you were our age! You should be leaving them for us!”

Shouta absolutely did not have the energy to deal with him at the moment, settling a disappointed, maybe a little disgusted, glare on the second-year and stepped aside. Hitoshi followed.

“What are you doing here?” Shouta sighed at him.

“It’s Friday; the keiseis are out early,” Hitoshi merely smiled.

“And why are you here?” He’d never shown up at Shouta’s classroom before now.

He guided Hitoshi down the hall, away from the whispering of the other students, towards the stairwell.

“I told you,” Hitoshi seemed too proud of himself, like he’d successfully marked his territory. “We made bread.”

Shouta held the rooftop door open for the omega. “I doubt this is the first time you’ve ever made bread.”

The keiseis had a dedicated cooking and baking class, no blanket home economics. Each topic was its own extensive course.

“But I made it for you,” Hitoshi purred, pivoting to walk backwards towards the chainlink fence.

“It could’ve waited,” Shouta had long since given up fully discouraging Hitoshi. The omega usually showed up in the teacher’s lounge, keeping the embarrassment isolated to his colleagues. This was different. Shouta should’ve crushed it.

Hitoshi didn’t make it all the way to the fence, surprising the older alpha by rocking forward again. Those undeniably talented hands rested over his pecs as the omega’s lithe frame pressed into him. Down his nose, he watched with a forceful stoicism as the wine-dark lashes batted at him around sultry, glittering amethysts. Tantalizingly close, Hitoshi’s breath fanned across his lips. “So you can taste all the good food I can make for our children.”

Shouta only hesitated for a second when the omega’s hands started to drift towards his shoulders.

Just a second…

Maybe two.

He skirted around Hitoshi’s advance, taking what should’ve been the omega’s spot with his back against the fence as he pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. The sense of brushing off Hitoshi’s evident goals only half-formed and got lodged in his throat anyway. It was clear the omega had taken all the troubling nonsense to heart about how the best time to have kids was as soon as possible. Too many people considered the body as an indicator of not just sexual maturity, but sexual capability as well. An omega that was old enough for heat was old enough to breed. But Shouta knew better just from looking around. Those as young as eight had been known to go into heat, yet their bodies were still narrow and immature. It was not tiny bodies making tiny babies—it was tiny bodies incapable of birthing normal-sized infants. Shouta knew better.

Yet, it was increasingly difficult to deny the long, graceful shape of Hitoshi’s body beneath the stifling robes. At nearly sixteen, the omega likely wasn’t growing much more. The struggle to remember Hitoshi’s age was further compounded by the way he carried himself. Hitoshi did not act like Shouta’s students. He didn’t talk like them. He didn’t walk like them. He didn’t think like them. Everything about Hitoshi was designed to manipulate an air of adulthood. He simply didn’t act like a teenager.

He acted like a keisei.

Hitoshi was a tayuu, orphaned at birth and scooped up by the Keisei Academy Network and delegated as either part of the Shinsou or Kamuro “lineage.” He’d been brought up for one sole purpose and knew nothing about thinking any other way.

He knew well what an alpha Shouta’s age wanted.

It wasn’t a child—not like that.

Although a couple children were still thoughtful prospects, which the omega read off Shouta like a book. Perhaps these things were related. He’d listened to Hitoshi discuss his parenting and maternity classes here or there, and now wondered if the topics hadn’t been feelers sent out to gauge the alpha’s reactions. Older parents offered less optimal genes to offspring. Shouta wasn’t as old as he often acted, but he was probably pushing the “acceptable” limits.

“Wouldn’t I have to stop smoking?” The defense was weak as he knocked a cigarette loose. “Doesn’t it affect the quality or something?”

Obviously, he had been listening.

As he moved to raise the roll of tobacco to his lips, the mere act of lifting his arms created an opening Hitoshi took to slip in, snaking an arm around Shouta’s back and gently laying a soft hand on his bicep. No move was made to intercept or interrupt. “I won’t force you.”

Shouta paused like he’d been tugged on anyway, feeling the omega’s body heat against his side.

Quietly, Hitoshi added, “I’ll just be extra good.”

He refused the luxury of seeing the gentle, alluring look on Hitoshi’s pretty face, instead eyeing the spongey filter of the cigarette like it was oh-so interesting.

He didn’t light it.

“You know I could never afford you,” Shouta had mentioned that once before in a different but equally rare moment of vulnerability—of honesty.

It didn’t take a genius to guess a Shinsou keisei was so far out of a teacher’s salary that even the daydream of it was comedic.

Hitoshi leaned in, pushing more of his weight onto Shouta to be supported without complaint. Deft fingers dug in and massaged the muscle they’d been resting on. The simmering whisper warmed the very air around them. “There are ways to lower a keisei’s value.”

Shouta stopped his eyes at the slender hand on his arm, not ready to see the omega’s expression or pretty lips. Reality was, Hitoshi had broken Shouta down over the last year and some.

All the talk of children… had Hitoshi always planned it to be this way?

He knew. They both knew.

Shouta was losing.

And a teen pregnancy would make Hitoshi worthless.

Less than the defilement of purity, it would show corruption of the mind and soul. An omega that had strayed from the path of grace and morals. Degeneracy. A pearl defaced. Low quality.

Shouta would be blamed, surely.

He nearly shook himself. Of course he would—he should be.

“I’d lose my job…” he uttered weakly.

The omega’s cheek came to rest on his shoulder and, for a moment, Hitoshi just held him. It wasn’t enough to prepare him for what those angel-sweet lips would say next. “I didn’t mean you had to be involved.”

Blood rushed through Shouta’s ears. The lighter clattered on the ground along with his cigarettes as he grabbed Hitoshi by the arm and swung the boy behind him into the fence. Hitoshi was staring up into his eyes, shocked but not afraid, not even while Shouta growled like a territorial animal. Their faces were close, Shouta towering over the younger omega like a real predator. At first, he couldn’t untangle the web of feral nonsense in his head to even apologize for being so aggressive.

Hitoshi’s face softened, gemstone eyes melting with something forlorn as he reached up to caress the alpha’s unshaven jaw. “I want you to be my alpha…!”

Shouta could hardly control himself. He had a tight grip—too tight—on Hitoshi’s, thankfully padded by the happi, hips and he shook him like the snarl tearing up his voice. “I want to be your alpha…!”

A meek little chirp whimpered through Shouta’s ears.

An answering chuff burst up from his chest without an ounce of control and he nearly lost to the urge to kiss and claim his omega, but managed to divert to merely pressing their heads together. Hitoshi was quick to dissolve in his arms, submitting like a ragdoll to whatever the alpha wished. His shortened breaths teased Shouta’s lips, making his next move all the more painful.

He ripped himself away before the omega got the bright idea to close the gap himself.

“We’ll discuss lowering your value after you graduate–” as he went to turn around, his wrist was promptly caught.

There was a tense silence where neither moved, but slowly, Shouta turned back around to face what was surely his ruin. Hitoshi, for once, looked so young and unsure, mouth opening but it took a few attempts to get anything out. He shook his head, “you know why that won’t work…”

Once adults, the keiseis had a little more freedom. While still expected of them to remain “faithful,” in some sense, to their future family, it was less embarrassing to the school if an adult became pregnant out of wedlock. Some tayuu were created that way, taken in when the keisei’s eventual match didn’t want to be responsible for some bastard child or thrown away entirely if the keisei didn’t end up getting what they wanted. The price cut for single-parents wasn’t nearly as steep, and it certainly wouldn’t make a notable difference to a Shinsou’s compared to a teacher’s salary.

He knew.

They both knew.

A Shinsou or a Kamuro were meant for the wealthy elite, to be pampered trophies of the upper class. That was Hitoshi’s fate. Stuck with a low-bred high school teacher was nowhere for him to be.

It wasn’t.

He was throwing his life away.

Shouta shouldn’t have been wondering what kind of timing and timeframe he’d have to work with to get referenced to a different school before their ruse was discovered but after Hitoshi was already farrowed. He shouldn’t have been gripping the omega’s hand back so hard. He shouldn’t have been picturing that hair unbound and splayed across his pillows every morning for the rest of his life. He shouldn’t have been wondering what kind of nest Hitoshi would build for them or what their children might look like.

Hitoshi was set up to never have to worry about anything—ever again—until the day he died.

If Shouta didn’t let go, if he kept squeezing the omega’s hand, he would be taking that—crushing it.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t–

He only realized Hitoshi had moved when he felt the omega curl an arm around his neck, still holding his hand between them. Slowly, Hitoshi nuzzled into Shouta’s neck, brushing them both with each other’s scents.

He couldn’t stop himself.

They're both getting a little worked up by the time Aizawa velcros the mitts around Shinsou's thin wrists. He has to get padded socks on the feet, too, because Shinsou is quick to roll up and nail him with every claw he has.

Tightens up that muzzle real fast before attempting anything else.

The little fighter doesn't try to run away immediately, instead whips around at the first opportunity to try attacking again but only manages to bonk Aizawa with the leather of the muzzle and bap him a bunch with the mitts. He may be a little bit skinny, but he's still strong enough to hurt a little.

Aizawa grabs one of his legs and has to fight him constantly tugging away, but even with Shinsou constantly smacking him in the head, he still gets the socks on.

Bath time is chaotic and Aizawa is soaked through too by the time he gives up, Kitten's growls echoing off the tiles without break and refusing to let Aizawa wash his hair.

Fine.

Aizawa lets the mean little bitch clamor out of the tub and splat on the floor like a wet towel. Shinsou's brain can't compute the now super heavy shit on his hands and feet, keeps trying to flick them off, can't stand at the same time, and can barely move without flopping over. Eventually just stops, half-flopped to the side with his ass up and his sopping wet tail swinging water all over the room, yowling up a storm. Tries to swat at the muzzle wrapped around his face sometimes but hates how wet the mitts are when they touch him.

The pussy's pretty little chubby pussy is just right there. He seems old enough to be mature; it's probably fine. Maybe some special attention will wear the vicious thing out and make Shinsou realize Aizawa doesn't want to hurt him.

When Aizawa grabs the kitty by the back of the thighs, he gets hissed at and Shinsou tries to swing at him but is getting tired. A gentle approach then~

He tucks in to chow down, shoving his face into those fat pussy lips. The first lick doesn't get much reaction, too shocked by this turn of events, but Shinsou eventually starts to twist around to try biting at Aizawa's knees and ankles. All the yowling stops and becomes belligerent grumbling and snarling as he tries to jerk away.

Aizawa won't let up, laps that pussy like a thirsty dog and slurps the cute little red clit with conviction.

Each little bap with the mitts is becoming more and more half-hearted. In the kitty's mind, he's still stubbornly fighting whenever his legs tense up but he's really just pushing himself back harder onto Aizawa's face.

Soon, he's panting so hard the muzzle is fogged up and his pussy's as wet as he is after the bath. Aizawa just won't let up on him and keeps sucking his clit, and is now starting to pump those big human fingers inside him. Shinsou remembers to growl a little here or there in between breathless mewls and whimpers. Just so the stupid man knows he doesn't like him!😠

Drool begins to dribble out of the holes in the muzzle and pool under his face on the floor, and Aizawa's eating him up so good his belly keeps getting tight and his eyes are rolling up into his head. His pussy feels hot, and rubbing it on Aizawa's stubble makes it feel even better.

He's not even trying to pull away anymore, just keeps pushing himself back onto Aizawa's mouth and fingers. But he still growls because he's totally still mad, definitely.

He cums with such sweet little pathetic noises, clenching down on those fingers and rutting back against Aizawa with jerky hips. The man's face is fucking dripping wet when Shinsou goes slack.

When Aizawa can stroke the mean little thing's back without so much as being told off, he decides it's a good time to finish this bath. The kitty's too out of it to do more than lethargically swat in the general direction of the water spraying over his hair.

Now sparkly clean, there's one last hurdle before Aizawa can leave his new feral pet to sleep safely in his room--let's be real, Shinsou's gonna wake up and fucking destroy it when he realizes he's trapped.

Aizawa has to undo the muzzle to get a look at those vicious teeth and see about brushing them. The kitty's so cute and precious when he's gooey and relaxed in Aizawa's lap. He'll be a good cat someday.

Shinsou's starting to come around when the big stupid monkey shoves a prickly stick in his mouth. Confused swats turn into full-on punches on Aizawa's arms and the angry cat noises start up again. Wriggling and writhing doesn't get him anywhere, and biting the toothbrush ends up hurting his gums more than anything. By the end, he looks like he has rabies and is positively spitting mad all over again.

Patience

While Aizawa can be impatient with people he views as not taking things seriously, that doesn't mean he's impatient in general. In fact, his ability to tolerate and support Eri's aimless rambling about her favorite TV shows or video games is astounding. This is true for all of his relationships.

Aizawa and Shinsou have a bit of a true crime bond, and something of the sort is often playing in the background in their home. Granted, they both approach it differently, with Aizawa maintaining more of a professional interest, whereas Shinsou is sometimes maybe possibly too into it. In his defense, he is also into fictional crime. However, nothing holds a flame to his fascination with people who go missing in the wilderness, whether they turn up later under mysterious circumstances (dead or alive) or not.

There will be weeks straight where he barely sleeps and spends almost every waking moment thinking about what could've happened, why, by who---or what, and where the victim(s) could've wound up. Every so often, this culminates in newspaper printouts, testimonials, and even maps of the area of interest accumulating all over their home.

Aizawa waking up alone, after having fallen asleep beside his partner, and groggily dragging himself into the living room to find an exhausted but manic and disheveled Shinsou, jittery on nicotine and caffeine, almost hysterically offloading his theory on the events that took place? Wouldn't be the first time.

He does his best to keep up with the onslaught of information while pouring himself some morning coffee, secretly happy with the noise and energy. If he's awake enough, he may just set Shinsou off on an affronted tangent by suggesting "aliens."

It never ceases to amuse him how worked up Shinsou gets while on a research bender.

Now, random internet culture mysteries? That's an entirely different ballpark of insomnia and crazed mutterings Aizawa frequently doesn't understand a lick of but does his best to be supportive of anyway, if only because Shinsou's passion is so magnetic (and amusing).

It's not like this type of fond humoring is new to their relationship, either. When they were still professional, particularly while Shinsou was in school, it was rare for Aizawa to talk about the niche things he was interested in, but sometimes it was too hard to resist telling his mentee the history of a certain martial style while teaching it to him. Shinsou would always delight in getting more from his beloved sensei than the cold rigidity of a student-teacher interaction.

Further Thoughts on the matter...

Shinsou is absolutely in a "TrueCrimeGirlies" groupchat with Jirou and Tokoyami

He will kill a fresh vape in a single night when he locks in

Aizawa will occasionally see the light from Shinsou's insane ravings and covertly contact the correct authorities about it; this has resulted in at least one case being officially reopened

Affection

Shinsou never considered himself a touchy-feely kind of person nor would he have expected Aizawa to be. Perhaps regular physical contact from sparring and training helped stave off any touch-starvation, but it was something he'd been conditioned throughout childhood to shy away from until it was something he barely thought of as necessary. All of that changed when they moved in together.

For a while, Aizawa was as he'd always been, as Shinsou had expected. Even when they could touch without being seen, chances were that they simply sat close. Maybe they'd bump each other's shoulder when bantering or teasing, but it was clear (to Shinsou, at least) when looking back that there was a palpable yet unrecognized fear of physical contact.

The really surprising part is that it was Aizawa who broke it.

Shinsou couldn't pinpoint exactly when this change happened, but it was as if Aizawa suddenly realized he could just touch Shinsou. Just because. Whenever. Resting a hand on his shoulder when leaning over him turned into hanging off him in the kitchen if Shinsou was cooking or making drinks. Coy brushes of knees or ankles under the table opened the door to latching onto the hem or belt loops of Shinsou's pants when standing around on the phone or "emotionally supporting" while the younger man checked on the succulents dotted around the house on windowsills they didn't want the cats trying to get up to. Every now and then, he'd find Shinsou sitting on the floor or melting over the armchair and would be completely unable to stop himself from taking his partner by the face, just feeling his skin and admiring how attractive he was.

Aizawa wasn't the only instigator, either, whether Shinsou realized it or not. He would start to lay on Aizawa's lap when lazing about on the couch just to have his hair played with or shove his feet under the other man's thighs. At some point, it became an involuntary urge to lean on Aizawa even if they were in public, and driving was the best because he got to hold his partner's hand the whole time.

And sometimes it was genuinely hard to resist messing with Aizawa's hair, especially after extended periods of time staring at his handsome face.

There were clear preferences for simply being near each other, whether that be sharing space or touching. However, Shinsou is definitely weak to a "good boy," especially from Aizawa. Affirmations came unnaturally to Aizawa, receiving or giving, but students needed to be encouraged sometimes. He'd had enough practice by the time he and Shinsou got together to be able to praise his partner without thinking too much about it. Shinsou turns to mush every time.

Aizawa might not think much about buying trinkets, more interested in finding rocks or such on the ground that either of them might like, but Shinsou will blow no small amount of his paycheck on little things he knew his man would at least find endearing. Small cat figurines all over Aizawa's desk at school? Shinsou bought them, and will buy more if he sees them. Of course, he'll also draw little pictures with cute notes and leave them in Aizawa's pockets after laundry day to be discovered later. This, specifically, has become so frequent that Aizawa compulsive checks his pockets during breaks and has a mostly unused notepad in his desk now dedicated to tucking away all of the little pieces of paper he finds in his clothes.

Aizawa is more of an 'acts of service' person. He finds it most satisfying to be able to do things for Shinsou. Feeling useful and needed is important. Given that Shinsou goes off the deep end researching things sometimes, there is no short supply of instances that make Aizawa feel like an important part of Shinsou's life, even if it's just covering the chores that were forgotten in the hysteria.

It may not be that surprising given how Aizawa treats the cats. This man completely babies them, has the weakest spine when they beg for food, trims their claws while cooing gently to them; brushes them every day he can or whenever one walks up to the cabinet their brush is stored in and cries for brushies, and even moisturizes their little toe beans with a paw salve. It wasn't that they weren't babied by Shinsou, too, but he had a little more spine to resist their demands and would happily take them to the groomers to avoid having to clip their claws. Shinsou spoils them with toys instead and scolds Aizawa for giving them too many treats when the cats start gaining weight.

Cleanliness

It's worth prefacing that Shinsou is not untidy, but if he wasn't strict about putting something away every time he got up, he very well might be. However, he'd seen hoarder situations growing up, had seen absolutely filthy living situations, had smelled Kaminari's room after exams-- He was committed to not being a complete disaster. Besides, he convinced himself long ago that it was a state of immaturity or childishness to not keep things hygienic, and how could he be with an adult if he still dragged his feet to clean his room like a little kid?

His view of the world---and the ways life just happened---softened with time, but proving he was "worthy" of being with Aizawa guided the beginnings of several of his habits. At least with cleaning and hygiene, it was truly a boon to their relationship.

Aizawa is completely neurotic about things being clean. It's always been in the Top 3 hurdles of living with someone else for him.

Things could not be unclean or disorganized. A room in disarray was a life out of control. Aizawa did not like being out of control.

Before they moved in together, Aizawa's living spaces could've been mistaken for staged open houses.

Shinsou has to be careful to decide where things "belong" or it would be hard to get Aizawa to accept something being out or in the "wrong place" later. Messes have to be brief as Aizawa has a limited acceptance period before the stress kicks in.

While this can be inconvenient sometimes, Shinsou actually doesn't mind this. There's something satisfying about having a neat, tidy house to come home to and knowing how much work went into keeping it that way. It also helps him stay on track with his own cleanliness goals.

Personal hygiene was something they commiserated over in school, both having extremely limited tolerance for odors and filth. Showers after training or rolling around outside are not up for debate. It wasn't uncommon for Shinsou to be late for class after gym, unwilling to forgo getting the dirt from under his nails or preening his hair with product after a thorough wash just to avoid detention.

They both take good care of themselves in the hygiene department, even if many assume Aizawa doesn't because he's lazy about shaving.

Smell good too. They both definitely smell really good. Like coconut, cardamom, licorice, juniper, and nutmeg. Mhm. You know they use each other's products indiscriminately.

Unmoving Objects and Unstoppable Forces

From all the years under Aizawa's tutelage, Shinsou developed a pretty good grasp on how the older man's head worked. When he was a kid, the overbearing sense of justice and "control issues," specifically, was difficult to make sense of, but as he grew older and spent more time with Aizawa, he began to unravel the parameters of his partner's thinking. There was logic there, and while Shinsou found some of it stretching or even funny, he grew to appreciate the predictability of his former mentor. And he was---Aizawa was extremely predictable once one understood the way he was wired.

It was also easy to avoid arguments when you knew how your partner would react to something.

Eventually, Shinsou figured out Aizawa didn't have control issues; rather, the older man was surprisingly lenient and accepting when a personal sense of responsibility wasn't there. No, it was the cognitive rigidity that turned patterns and routines into safety nets and laws. On a watered-down scale, Shinsou always "knew" Aizawa's perception of reality was a little different than most others. It took years to actually understand what that meant and how it applied to Aizawa's mood and stability. The world was terrifying, mathematically improbable; humans were incoherent, society was backwards, and no one else seemed to even notice! Instead, others built social cages that Aizawa couldn't fit through and proceeded to blame him for not being the right shape. It was frustrating!

So he built his own cages. Ones that fit him. Ones he was in control of. Ones that weren't confusing or backwards. And those cages made him feel safe. He simultaneously liked and despaired that no one else could easily fit through his bars. On one hand, he was free to exist in his tiny bubble and search for shiny rocks at his leisure; but on the other, these stiff, unyielding lines made things incredibly isolating.

Once Shinsou determined what Aizawa's cages were made of, he found a sad understanding of their lonely construction. They really weren't that difficult to slip through, when he thought about it (not that many other people would). Understand the pattern---understand the man. Sudden changes or leaving room in a conversation for Aizawa to interpret something incorrectly would just lead to everyone being distressed. Aizawa was predictable, and so was his view of the world.

Shinsou even grew to understand that he was the unpredictable one through Aizawa's mental lens. Aizawa is rigid; this or that needed to be done this way because, well, it had to, and this or that was wrong with little room for leeway. His view of the world is rigid.

Shinsou's isn't. Shinsou is flexible, open to change, quick to adapt, and willing to tolerate things he finds distasteful as a means to an end. In short, he is an excellent actor when he decides he needs to be, and is quick to hide things he thinks are better left tucked away so they don't burden others around him. It's to his benefit in the field, needing to be the exact type of person to get a criminal or villain to retort. That person isn't always him, so he has to be fluid, dynamic.

There are aspects of this adaptability that Aizawa genuinely admires, but he hates how easily Shinsou can disguise his feelings or simply lie if the younger man thought it would protect someone else's feelings (something Aizawa finds infantilizing when turned on him). With time, these become the only things they really argue about as a couple.

More on the 'tism

Given the part of the world he lives in (and the way Japanese works), Aizawa has some plasticity socially, but it's apparent that it isn't second- third- or even fourth-nature and requires quite of a bit of emotional battery power; ie, he might reevaluate something he said minutes after the fact and preemptively attempt to mend the bridge before his miscalculation can even be addressed (even if no damage was caused since he can't tell the difference sometimes).

Aizawa has some artistic ability, but he rarely uses it "creatively"; his approach to drawing is mechanical and borderline mathematical; as long as everything is neat and easily understood, nothing more is needed; battle plans, maps, blueprints; simple shapes and minimal detail (Shinsou thinks it's a cute style, especially the way Aizawa draws cats, which he only does if asked, but he used to doodle a cat in exchange for any Shinsou sketched on his homework in school)

Special interests: various fighting styles, martial arts, types of combat and warfare, and improvised weapons/weaponizing things that weren't designed to be weapons

So he worked the boy harder, singled him out, took him beyond the walls to dig at the heart of this uncanny mediocrity.

Mostly, they ended up talking.

Some things, Aizawa already knew from the way the boy carried -- orphan, no remarkable family ties, nobody. Other things shocked him. Educated, taught through the generosity of the local shrine with the other war orphans every week with hope to elevate them towards a better life than just some warhound's arrow fodder. And yet, Shinsou was there, right where the Buddhists hadn't wanted him to be.

"Doing nothing isn't going to stop your enemies from burning your village down."

It seemed Shinsou hadn't learned the right lessons from the monks.

Yet, none of it was making sense. If he wanted to be a martyr protecting his people, why be so average? Aizawa's only conclusion was that it was on purpose; this boy was clever as a fox and he was a damn good fighter when he thought he really needed to be.

Aizawa kept prodding.

On mission to a village that was left behind by a small army chasing their enemies back to the borders, he saw a glimpse of what the real reasons were as Shinsou observed the half-scorched village -- collateral, in the way, had to burn the rice so the enemy couldn't have it -- and tugged two frightened, soot-covered children out from under a burned house. Aizawa was just a half-blind old man; he didn't see where Shinsou went when asked.

He was kind of surprised the boy came back after a couple days.

He wasn't surprised that by the time his students "graduated" and got their armor, were released into the world, signed on with their own or with other clans; that Shinsou vanished.

No word of where he'd gone or if he'd hopped on with anyone's army.

He just took his sword and bow and left.

Aizawa had to fight himself not to waste resources tracking the boy down just to sate his interest.

When the wars settled and the daimyo was given a new title, the new government took a hard look at the cogs and grease of their wretched machine and said it was too ugly for their opulent mansions. It was stripped down. Every order Aizawa ignored, every spiteful compliance he knew would harm his own lord, and every bold rebuttal towards his superiors over the years came down harshly on him.

The wording was clear.

Leave before we pin you up for our sins.

Retirement didn't suit him, but it was better than the alternative. So when a letter came in, no pleasantries or apologies or woe-is's, just asking to meet up, Aizawa didn't have much else to do.

He certainly didn't want to admit something stirred in him to see Shinsou's name printed in the boy's own handwriting. Something that stirred more tumultuous upon seeing the young man with eyes like purple jade again.

“I trained you to carry your country’s banner, not wander the roads like a dog.”

He wore the road like a shogun’s armor.

If Shouta was in a particularly bad mood, he might snap at Hizashi for stimming too energetically in his silence because the rustle of his clothes as he shook his leg or the tapping of his rings on each other or other surfaces or the scraping of his nail over the zipper of his jacket wasn’t silent; so Hizashi tried to preemptively curb that reaction by dampening himself.

At that point, they didn’t talk much outside of professional contexts, their apartment a war zone at Christmas. Sometimes, it all erupted because Shouta couldn’t handle it anymore than Hizashi could. They couldn’t handle each other’s gradually souring scents or the escalating spice of anger springing off itself and increasing threat velocity as it went. Alphas couldn’t mate off successfully. Hizashi would get so pissed when people fucking told him what to do–

Defeat crawled beneath his skin but he couldn’t swallow it — he couldn’t. Shades of three sets of sneakers on the rooftop burned and tore the seams of his mind. Broken promises cut like glass in his throat and rusted his mouth.

Sometimes, Hizashi threw his rusty daggers at the other alpha’s back and the ceasefire would evaporate in the blast radius. Shouta didn’t words when he was angry, the emotion tangling up all his logic and planning until the only thing that came out of him were brief threats to fuck off and animal warnings of the same color. Yet, it was always Hizashi who threw the first punch, and it was always Hizashi who ended up thrown like a sack of feathers to the floor or against the wall.

Truthfully, it was always Hizashi who started it anyway.

It was also him who would deflect them from breaking bones to biting lips, if Shouta was in a confrontational mood — sometimes he would just turn tail and leave.

Hizashi loved Shouta.

But he couldn’t fucking live with him.

But there was no one else he’d rather sit under the awning at UA and complain about the world with.

Not afraid of a little dirt

Shinsou was always an active kid, but even when he was younger he fantasized about being in nature like in books or TV shows. It's a difficult balance, seeing as he's most effective at his job in the city where there are lots of people to protect.

Aizawa has given him the means (and excuses) to venture outside the concrete jungle and get a little dirt on his knees that isn't polluted by motor oil.

For Aizawa, he never cared much either way about nature, not like Shinsou does. However, he was the type of kid that loved climbing trees. He liked being up high and enjoyed the feat of scaling something so much greater than himself. Being with Shinsou, seeing how happy and lively he is outside the city, has reawakened the excitement and awe of fulfilling that tiny monkey itch in the back of his brain that couldn't wait to be off the ground.

Surely they could write off a little hike here or there as a business expense, right? Even the countryside and mountains needed protecting, of course.

Outside is for losers anyway

When the weather gets colder, it's the perfect time to curl up by the fire with warm drinks and do some parallel play. Aizawa will be grading, of course, and Shinsou will read his murder mystery novels. They'll interrupt each other intermittently with cat videos, shared inconspicuously over text so they don't really "interrupt" the other.

There's nothing wrong with cooking for each other, either! Who needs a noisy restaurant when your partner knows exactly what you like and how you like it? They can both cook just fine, although Aizawa generally treats it as a method of survival rather than joy, unlike Shinsou, who's an overachiever at heart. Aizawa tackles the staple meals while Shinsou performs experimental magic in the kitchen; and even if Shinsou's the better baker, Aizawa will still do his best when they babysit Eri.

More "social" ideas

They'll visit museums or places of historical significance, likely during off-hours, and Shinsou will spend the whole time hanging off Aizawa like a giddy child, only encouraged by Aizawa allowing it. More than admiring the history, they're there discussing how they'd steal this or that artifact without being caught, going into elaborate detail for heists and escape plans. It's a good exercise---getting into the heads of criminals.

They definitely make staff nervous.

These two are not immune to a coffee date sometimes, even if it means dealing with crowds. They'll probably scale the building to sit together on the roof instead of a table, though.

They go to cat cafes. I will not hear otherwise.

More thoughts!!

They don't usually talk much---don't have to---or Shinsou fills the silence talking about his day or stuff he'd read about recently. Aizawa is just happy to listen to the sound of his voice.

Crimson heat bit at the underside of his skin as he walked the shadows of the wrapping deck to his room, as if staying out of the orange light of the blood moon would keep his beast from frenzying beneath it. The trainees would be fine in his absence, but Shouta still had a few days to make sure. His schedule remained the same in spite of his growing dispositional changes and worsening sleep, which played its own role in his shorter temper.

Shinsou would keep the ship sailing smoothly without him. Even the upstart alphas knew better than to try to throw their weight around with Shouta's star pupil, although there were already whispers of relief and excitement to have their training taken over by the other glacial shinobi. Most of it was little to do with his omegan features.

What was about his omegan features was also simultaneously about the co-mingling of the classes, as Shinsou wouldn't have enough time in the day to train the younger kunotoko and kunoichi separately from the, so to speak, “traditional” shinobi. In reality, most of the genuine ninja work was performed expertly by the Midnight Branch, but there was always use of brute force and war-like tendencies, especially when it conveniently disguised what was really being taught in their academy.

Shouta looked forward to seeing the trainee alphas’ downtrodden expressions when he returned. Maybe getting their asses kicked around by a bunch of girls would make them take their training more seriously.

Dim moonlight spilled into his room first as he slid the door open, hasty to show off that his quarters had been infiltrated and, judging from the unhurried movement just out of reach of the faint illumination, the interloper was still present. Shouta schooled the initial startled reaction that made his fingers twitch for his tanto on his hip, taking in the room almost as quickly and failing to be alarmed further. There was quite a construction in the middle of his floor. Perhaps his usual bedroll was amongst the nest of linen and wool. Shouta’s immediate first thought beyond questioning was that it looked like some kind of wagashi shaped like a flower but plush like a mochi.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have skipped dinner.

After a moment, his gaze flicked over to the shadowed figure kneeling calmly beside the plump nest. With a tone that was more tired than anything else, Shouta sighed at his trespasser. “Shinsou…”

The kunotoko’s pale eyes flitted down to his project and he leaned over it to adjust the puffed section in front of him to be tighter on the sides with his long fingers. “Have you ever had a nest, sensei?”

“What are you doing?” Shouta had a sinking feeling he knew and refused to play the omega’s little game. Shinsou was a well-honed manipulator, possibly Shouta’s best to date. It was better to not let the younger shinobi get his threads into one’s psyche.

While watching Shinsou’s talented hands tucking sheets and twisting fabric did elicit some primal response Shouta artfully ignored, this wasn’t exactly the first time something like this had happened. It was the first ploy that was so bold, but the hennish hovering to ensure the alpha was uninjured or fed properly or hydrated and the occasional deadpan comment about there existing ways to get Shinsou back in the field faster when he went into heat weren’t entirely lost on Shouta. Those had been easy enough to brush off. This…

Shinsou built a nest in his room.

Say he wasn’t trying hard enough, but Shouta found this particularly difficult to simply overlook.

“All I ever wish to do,” Shinsou twisted the sheets underneath somewhere, pulling the quilted wall more taut. “Is serve my master.”

Shouta didn’t know how to deal with this right now. He heaved an exhausted sigh and crossed his arms while taking a step away from the door for the troublesome kunotoko to walk out of—hopefully. “Goodnight, Shinsou.”

Shinsou seemed wholly unwilling to take the hint, leaning back on his haunches and looking back up at Shouta in a manner that, while coy and polite, had a distinctly haughty air. “‘A nest is not complete until it smells like an omega.’”

“You know Kayama was a beta, right?” Shouta was unmoved by his protégé’s plays. “What could she really have known about all that?”

The question was rhetorical and unpersuasive even to the man who uttered it. Midnight was especially educated in medicine as it pertained to her… tastes. She even disguised herself as both alphas and omegas, depending on how the situation suited her, cupping her students’ or friends’ oils with some technique she learned from the Chinese and repackaged to harvest their scents straight from their skin for her own uses. Her loss was a great tragedy. A true genius of her field. But her teachings were almost equal in value.

“The perfume of a trusted omega can alleviate rutting symptoms.”

Shouta wished she’d educated Shinsou less. “Who said I trust you?”

Shinsou’s head tipped back slightly, and his stoic procedure broke gently as he set Shouta with a look that was best described as unconvinced, not too dissimilar to the knowing level of a parent catching their unruly brat in a lie. “You drink the tea I bring you, and eat the food I make for you.”

And taught half his classes. And watched his back on missions. And trained dutifully under him for years.

“You gain nothing from killing me.” Shouta offered pragmatically.

A wicked little motion, a twitch of lips, shattered the other shinobi’s poise entirely. Shinsou’s brows quirked up in similar time and Shouta wasn’t naive enough to assume the lapse was a mistake. “It would be much easier to have your heart if I cut it out of your chest.”

“You’re too young.” Shouta refused to acknowledge the tingle at his back and remembered he wasn’t supposed to be giving Shinsou so many opportunities to puppeteer him. His tone was bleak.

“I’m not.” Shinsou shook his head in objection, but there was ultimately still a coy playfulness to his caramel voice and relaxed posture. Confidence. Or, as Shouta chose to read it, the amusement of a caretaker humoring a senile ward.

“Only those in the thick of youthful hubris believe themselves not to be.” Shouta struck back and hoped to sound sufficiently decrepit to dissuade the omega that he was even still virile enough to be a suitable mate.

Then, Shouta had to endure the worst attack yet. The pale light reflected enough to show the pretty curve of teeth splitting Shinsou’s face in the dark, unnerving in its crafted perfection. “At any other time I’ve been overconfident, you just worked me harder and harder until I understood how much further I still had to go.”

Shouta, admittedly, hadn’t expected his style of teaching to have any notable repercussions. He felt like he was losing this game despite thinking he never started playing. “Yes, well, that same lesson in this instance would be me walking over there, picking you up, and throwing you–” he pointed briefly behind him outside, “–out that door.”

It was at that moment Shouta felt as if he’d made a grave error—a severe miscalculation. Shinsou braced his hands on the nest and leaned forward on his knees, stretching into the faint light so Shouta could see more of his devastating features. The grin was lethal. Violet eyes full of destructive lunar zeal, shaded underneath by what could've been the low lighting or the lack of sleep that was regularly endured.

“Do it.”

Shouta’s body remained firmly anchored in place where he stood, stock-still and desperately trying to keep a rein on his profile. Perhaps it was a pointless endeavor. Glittering indigo and moonstones cut him open and read his insides like the truths of the universe were carved into his ribs.

“Come over here…” Shinsou slunk like a stalking cat over the wall of the nest, his equally slender yet powerful body slipping effortlessly into the central bowl, into the light, languid and sure. Shouta was surprised the kunotoko was still recognizably in uniform—his armor was missing, gloves and various bands and pouches were nowhere to be seen; but he still donned his dark hadagi and his trousers were still rolled and gartered at the knees. However, the splash of creamy white in the swooping cutouts where his pockets were usually strapped beneath his clothes was striking against the clean fabric of the nest.

There was nothing underneath. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“... And put your hands on me, master.”

Shinsou was always an overachiever. Shouta wished he hadn’t given Midnight’s lessons the same gusto.

Shouta’s fingers danced an anxious roll against his arms as he debated his course, attempting to form some kind of strategy like he was dealing with a stray tiger lazing in his bed instead of an eager omega. He thought a good long while about what to do, frozen in place, constantly battling his own traitorous gaze from getting distracted by the dips and grooves of delicate skin uncovered at the hip and where the fabric draped a little too far to the side—

He’d snap his gaze up to the younger shinobi’s curation of unwavering calm and stoicism plastered over that stunning face like Shinsou knew it would drive him crazy to no longer be privy to each little quirk of his expression. The dismay and defeat lobbed his eyes downward a short ways, not wanting to go too far down again, just to get caught up in another war of attention with the soft, subtle peaks beneath the thin hadagi thrust out shamelessly from the way Shinsou held himself upright on his arms.

Shouta knew these tricks, damn it.

The kunotoko and kunoichi were his best operatives because, well, knowing couldn’t save you.

However, knowing this very situation resulted in many an assassinated noble or political leader did add an edge Shouta wasn’t sure how to contend with. Logically, he knew Shinsou wasn’t planning to kill him. There were no secrets to steal. No money or treasure owed to someone else. The omega paraded his body, his intentions—his feelings—before the older man just the same. Odd as it was, that thought did lead Shouta to a flickering flame of conclusion that Shinsou didn’t know how else to do this.

And truthfully, that was the toughest blow to take.

Shinsou was a weapon, honed and wielded from a young age. He didn’t know how to be anything else.

But Shouta was watching him try.

It did… change things—the way the encounter felt.

Perhaps Shinsou wasn’t guarding his expression in an act of cloying seduction but because he was safeguarding his own apprehension. Flaunting his emotions, his hesitation, served no purpose here and would, as he was taught many times, only hamper his mission.

Shouta tried not to dwell on Shinsou thinking of him as a mission.

Although, the idea of the omega trying to conquer him did make his blood rush so loudly in his ears he couldn’t hear himself think.

What he heard instead was a soft, steady melody of vocal beats, a slow trill requesting his attention, his approval. Shouta jerked, back straightening in alarm as he felt his chest fill to respond, but he constricted his throat and choked the life out of it before the resounding chuff could surface. Flashes of memories of his protégé as an immature upstart barely old enough to know what sex was, a boy too scrawny to notice reaching for your coin purse but still too loose with his tongue, scolded him harshly inside his conflicted mind. He couldn’t do this.

The thought beat him even harder.

He couldn’t reject Shinsou either.

One of his most lethal weapons was baring himself, raw and fragile, despite appearances. He wanted Shouta to see—he wanted Shouta’s acceptance.

Feeling dizzy as his affect clawed up his chest to bash the gates behind his temples out of desperation to give it, Shouta squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. The struggle was rife in his voice even as he tried to swallow it down. “You need to get out of here.”

Shouta wasn’t ready to be this out of control yet.

It took a moment, one that sliced him cleaner than any blade, but Shinsou eventually responded, low and unsympathetic, “you have all my sheets…”

“Boy…” Shouta paused to strangle the growl in his throat. Shinsou may have been too young, by Shouta’s metric, but he was too old for that word. It hadn’t felt just to use it in several years now. Perhaps Shouta was just desperate for any control he could muster. “And what of the classes? You think the kids won’t run off to the city to fill up on treats and laze about without guidance?”

His gaze dared to sweep over Shinsou’s again and found little had changed in the face of what may well have been an admission of guilt. The omega tucked his chin, long lashes shuttering briefly; simple proof it wasn’t just Shouta losing the war of nature and granting him some solace. Shinsou’s cadence remained unchanged. “I can fulfill both duties.”

Shinsou spoke so easily, so confidently, Shouta wanted to believe him, too. He scoffed instead, unsure if it was Shinsou’s confidence he was worried about or his own uncertainty. “You think I’d let you get away?”

He’d expected a bit more than a faint tilt of the kunotoko’s head. Just as he began to wonder exactly how much Shinsou had thought about this, the omega all but confirmed the extensiveness of his planning.

“There’s still time to find a replacement.”

“You–” Shouta felt his emotions knock loose, the deafening roar in his veins allowing them to rattle off the shelf he kept them tucked away on. If it was anyone else, he might have tried harder to douse the flames. Or maybe he would’ve tried less, uncaring to frighten or insult them. He stepped forward, not entirely himself, chest opening in a jerry rigged threat as a last-ditch effort to weaponize his wildness and spare his bright coworker from being stuck at the academy with his dreary ass forever. “–are overestimating my willingness in this situation! Should some tramp of an alpha stakeout in your private quarters when you are due for heat and refused to leave, what would you do?”

It wasn’t a great comparison and they both knew it. Shinsou wasn’t “some omega” and the answer seemed quite obvious. Although the one Shinsou offered was a bit more severe, at odds with the unabashed adjustment of his pants so the slit sat higher on his hip to show off the defined ebbs and swells of his shape. Violet eyes, big and sweet, blinked up at him in a truly unbelievable rendition of an innocent doll. “I’d just kill them.”

Yeah, Shouta believed that. It wouldn’t be the first time some great misfortune befell a pest in their esteemed halls. That had been at the bathhouses, though. An “accidental drowning.” Something like trespassing lecherously in one’s room would surely result in an even more understandably intense… “accident.”

Shinsou continued to stare up at Shouta in anticipation.

Shouta stared back, weapons holstered and, honestly, forgotten about.

Seeing as it was obvious Shouta’s supposed qualms were entirely toothless, Shinsou tucked one of his legs closer to his body and lazed even more casually with one arm draped coyly over his scant waist. “... you think I’m a tramp?”

Shouta sighed, exasperated. Perhaps he’d pushed Shinsou too far as a shinobi. The kunotoko had seen too much, done too much. Shouta had accused him of lacking survival instincts but the older alpha knew that wasn’t it. Shinsou was just… temerarious.

Headstrong.

Reckless.

“I think you need to go back to your room.” Shouta tried once more to gain control over the situation.

Shinsou huffed and laid himself out amongst the fluff of the nest. “I meant it… you have all my sheets.”

Shouta felt as if he was trying to teach a leopard to sit on command.

A burst of flavor colored the air as Shinsou pinched some fabric and rubbed it against his neck, leaving the matte, powdery substance keeping his scent at bay on the sheet. He’d always had a distinct, arborous smell that was difficult to decipher in specifics under the powders. Removing them unleashed the blooms of flowering trees and its rich, resinous appeal. Shouta had been exposed to it before on a handful of missions, but it was still a bit strange to associate Shinsou with actually being an omega. It was one thing to say he was but another to intimately know he was.

And there was no way to mistake that kind of bold, fresh sweetness as anything other than omegan in nature.

Shouta cleared his throat. It did little for his head. He gestured vaguely at the nest and tried to keep his voice steady. “Roll the whole thing up and take it with you.”

Shinsou released a breath with a small smirk, scenting the fabrics unimpeded. “Then where would you sleep?”

So, Shouta’s bed was in there somewhere.

“The floor.” Shouta put all his remaining energy into sounding thoroughly harassed.

Shinsou gave him that look again, like he was a silly old man. “Sensei…”

“Do something in your own best interest for once,” Shouta practically pleaded.

No, he was pleading. They both knew he was too weak-willed to fight with Shinsou much longer, unable to draw the line he kept threatening. Shinsou needed to be the one to do it.

There was a notable and rather cute pout on the kunotoko’s face as he sat up on his arms, giving Shouta a bemused and disappointed glare. It did serve to make the older man feel as if he’d stepped on a cat’s paw by mistake. Surprisingly, though, Shinsou eventually pushed himself to his feet.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” was all he said as he stepped out of the nest, walked past Shouta and out the door without a sound.

Shouta stared in baffled uncertainty at the construction in the middle of his floor, scratching a hand through his hair to loosen the strap holding his dark waves back, peppered gray like the quarry stones outside. Frankly, Shinsou wasn’t looking much better with the stripes of silver already breaking up the smooth wash of indigo despite his age. They were soldiers, in a watered down way, and they lived hard lives. Of course, Shouta had done better than his protégé regarding their hair. The omega was probably going to be gray by the time he reached his master’s age.

Maybe that was it. Shouta crouched down to investigate the beautifully crafted bed as he mused. He knew women sometimes went into baby mania, especially when growing older. Maybe the kunotoko just needed something to love and care for, and that might make him settle down a little. Truthfully, Shouta had been hoping to retire Shinsou soon anyway, give the omega a chance to live instead of following the rough, lonely path of his sensei. Shinobi weren’t meant to work forever. Their careers were greatest when they resembled the cycle of a cherry tree—short and sweet before anyone could start to pick up on patterns or recognize them.

Or kill them.

If Shinsou wanted a baby…

Shouta mentally beat himself out of that train of thought because he did not need to be the one who gave Shinsou that.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Shouta rubbed at the tension in his forehead, the warning finally clicking in his mind. Perhaps Shinsou had already worn him down, but it wasn’t as if it was a completely disagreeable scenario. It would be easier to…

Shinsou deserved a doting husband who would be there for him and his children for the rest of his life.

Shouta shook his head and stood to disrobe, sliding his door shut while slipping his haori off. He was blind in one eye, for god’s sake… The scars littering his body were constant reminders he was lucky to still be alive and was pushing that luck each and every day. The thick, jagged tissue cutting a rude line from his calf to his thigh was the most recent. He’d been told he may lose it entirely when the wound was fresh, but he was fortunate it healed. Not well, as far as Shouta was concerned. He learned to adjust his gait to hide it well, but the joint was terribly stiff. It wasn’t pretty. Shouta held no reservation that he was particularly pretty either and was quite confused by Shinsou’s interest.

No, Shouta was a mess. He’d be lucky to see another ten years.

Shinsou, on the other hand… Shinsou was horribly pretty. He was still young and healthy. There was no sense in pursuing an old alpha ready to fall apart at any moment.